


I'M ALREADY THERE

by AgnesClementine



Series: FIGHTERS OF THE GOOD FIGHT [6]
Category: Supernatural, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Diego whump, Gen, Kidnapping, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Diego's living out his dream- or, well, maybe not- and Dean is worried.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be fun. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

The boiler room is warm and dry and…not as bad as Diego thought it would be. He needed a job- or, well, he wanted the money that had nothing to do with Dad, and a place to stay, and it was just convenient. He didn’t think he’d actually kinda like the room he got in exchange of full pay for mopping up the floors. All in all, he thinks he pulled out the long straw in the whole deal.

He unzips his bag and shakes out its content onto a freshly made bed. A mess of clothes and knives falls out in a heap and the shirt with police academy’s logo on front looks at him like a mockery and a strange memory of something that doesn’t even feel real. To Diego, it’s almost like it didn’t happen if it weren’t for people who thought his more than average skills were “pretty cool” and “useful” and not something unsettling. But then again, his skills aside, his personality would’ve cut his stint there short if Patch- “ _Call me Eudora and I will end you,_ ”- didn’t make it her job to rein him in a bit.

He generally makes it his job to be as difficult to those in charge as he can be (an automatic response to any figure of authority, _thanks Dad_ ), and he wasn’t planning on being much different in the academy, but for some reason Patch believed, _had actual faith_ , that his place was on the force and she was determined to not let him fuck up his chance to get there.

  _Jokes on her_ , he thinks with a hint of bitterness, _because no matter what, he’s just not cut for it_.

He shoves the shirt into a bottom of a drawer next to his bed and starts folding other shirts on top of it. He doesn’t have a closet here, but he also doesn’t really have so many clothes that he’s couldn’t fit them into a dresser. His jackets will go to the coat rack near the stairs, boots, and sneakers next to them, and his jeans, sweatpants, and shirts into drawers, along with his socks and underwear. His knives will be in the metal case underneath the bed, the one he had to go fetch from the mansion because there are only so many knives he could bring with him before they decided to forget all about his “incredible” combat skills and endurance, and kick him to the curb. And there is enough suspicion and gossip around his family name- he didn’t want to confirm any of them.

It’s been years- _over a decade, shit_ \- since the Umbrella Academy made its first public appearance, and years since its last, too. Though, there will always be people obsessed with a team of kids with superpowers that showed up out of nowhere, and then just as suddenly disappeared a few years later. There will always be people obsessed with discovering the truth and solving mysteries that are none of their business.

Hypocritical, Diego knows, considering his vigilantism and semi-hunting-ness. But it’s all different when people are poking into your life, assuming and accusing.

There is no hard proof the Hargreeves are the Umbrella Academy, of course. Dear Reginald Hargreeves made sure they know to never remove their masks and speak unless necessary in public. In fact, Luther has been his only spokesperson, the one to declare to the world that they’re “The inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy.” But still, it wasn’t long before the suspicion fell to the strange, isolated family that lived in a huge mansion with an _umbrella_ on their front door.

_Really, Dad, good job on that one._

He sighs, shaking off the glum thoughts, and sets to moving into his new home.

  * ●●●●



He locks up the gym that night, spinning the spare key Al gave to him when he first moved in around his ring finger, and wonders what Vanya is up to.

They haven’t- he hasn’t spoken to any of his siblings since he joined the academy. Klaus is… Klaus is who knows where. Last Diego knows, he’s pawned off his phone for some cash, for drugs, and he’s really only seen him on an odd night here and there while driving around the city. Klaus doesn’t spot him most of those times, and when he does, he’s so doped up that his eyes hold no recognition. That, out of all things, is what makes Diego feel the worst.

He tried to call Allison once, a few weeks after she moved to L.A. and he saw her on TV in Griddy’s one night. She changed her number. He didn’t bother after that.

Luther doesn’t have a phone. Never had one, and besides, as time went on, the two of them drifted apart even more than Diego thought was possible.

He’s not sure if Vanya too doesn’t have a phone, or if he just doesn’t know her number (surprisingly, or maybe not, Vanya was the one to move out before Diego did). He’s not sure which one’s worse, but both makes him feel like shit.

Really, his phone would’ve been completely useless if Dean wasn’t calling and texting him on an almost daily basis. And- yeah, he’s going to sound cheesy as fuck, but it’s not like there’s anyone he has to pretend for- Dean’s voice or texts are the highlights of his days.

He was holding onto a sliver of hope- or not hope, exactly, more of an unlikely possibility- that his crush, his feelings, whatever it is, will go away, or at least dim a little the longer Dean stays away, physically. That didn’t happen. Instead, he’s missing Dean like a limb, like a vice he’s itching for a hit of. He doesn’t enjoy the feeling, but at least it doesn’t leave space in his body for more anger to nestle into. He got enough of that through the last few years.

As he finishes up with the cleaning, he makes his way to the boiler room to change to his usual “vigilante attire”. There’s still an odd supernatural case, a hunt, in or near the city, but most nights, Diego is just patrolling the streets. Nights vary from quiet to chaotic, and everything in between.

He didn’t expect his life to take this turn, but as far as things go, he’s not complaining. If he was different, he might’ve still be stuck in the mansion, sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs.

  * ●●●●



It’s a slow night, nothing that would catch Diego’s attention right away, so when his phone goes off, he parks in front of an alley next to an apartment complex and grabs his phone.

It’s Dean, though Diego doesn’t even need to look at the caller’s ID to know that.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, jamming the phone between his shoulder and ear to take off his gloves.

Dean is silent on the other side, only his slightly ragged breathing audible, and Diego frowns, feeling something’s wrong.

“Dean?”

Silence, then, “Sam left.”

Oh.

“I- tonight?” He asks, assuming Dean called because he needs to let off some steam, but still feeling like something is wrong.

Dean hums. It sounds angry and Diego imagines him clenching his free hand into a fist. Then he says, “I just dropped him off at the bus station. He and Dad got into a fight. A serious one, Dad told him to never come back if he leaves.”

“Shit,” Diego breathes out. There’s nagging in the back of his head, yelling “Watch out!” because it feels like Dean and he have a bit different perspectives on this.

“Yeah, shit,” Dean agrees harshly.

Diego chews on the inside of his cheek and then dares to ask, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” Dean retorts bitterly. “He just left. He had his mind made and he left like he doesn’t give a fuck about his family,” he tells him.

Diego swallows, feeling like this is somehow his fault. His mind flashes to the talk he had with Sam, back when they lived in the city for a while, when Diego was 17. He pops his knuckles, says, “Dean, I’m sorry.”

Dean huffs, “Why? It’s not like you made him do it.”

Diego shakes his head although Dean can’t see him, “Well, no. But we talked-“

“You talked?” Dean interrupts him. “About what?” He asks, his voice holding a dangerous tone that Diego doesn’t like.

“Dean, it’s not lik-“

“What did you talk to him about?”

Diego sighs, “Family, what he wants to do. It’s not-“

“It’s not important? Well, what the hell did you tell him that made him decide to leave?”

“You think I talked him into leaving?” Diego asks just of sheer need to make sure he’s getting this right.

“Why else would he?!”

“Maybe because he wanted to!” Diego yells back, genuinely hurt because he thought that Dean knew he’d never do that.

“Please! He had it good here! And, yeah, things were not perfect, but he was safe and he had his family with him. We were doing fine!”

“That’s what you think! Christ! Pull your head out of your ass, Dean, maybe he didn’t like how you guys are living!”

They’re full-on yelling now, Diego knows, but he’s hurt and angry and he doesn’t care even though he knows he’ll kick himself over it in a bit.

“Fuck you! Not everyone’s got a fucked up family life, Diego!”

They both shut up then and the silence that stretches between them is deafening. Diego recognizes the jab, knows it was meant to hurt him and that Dean just said it in rebuttal to Diego’s own jab (which was really the same thing, just different phrasing, wasn’t it?) but he feels stunned numbness for a moment, listening to Dean’s harsh breathing into the speaker.

The worst of all, said in anger or not, it’s true. Not everyone’s family is fucked up and Diego’s sure takes the cake. Not even Dean’s- by a long shot- and he still has so much more to say, a shit ton of reasons and ways to get through Dean’s thick skull and explain to him why Sam decided to leave.

He takes the phone away from his ear and hangs up instead. He stares at his phone for a moment, screen black, then tosses it onto the passenger’s seat and slams his hand on the steering wheel.

Here it is- the ‘kicking himself over it’ moment. He really doesn’t know when to shut up, hackles rising to the smallest of things.

He shucks off his jacket, deciding to just call it a night and go home because he’s angry- with himself the most of all and that’s just no state in which he should be handling knives. He knows from the previous experiences.

_He just fucks it all up_ , he thinks, reaching out to fire up the engine- and then something crashes in the alley. His head snaps to the sound- a turned over trash can- and he locks eyes with a tattooed figure hidden in the dark for a second. The figure turns and starts running, and Diego realizes there’s a girl, unconscious, tossed over his shoulder.

He jumps out of the car with a start, shouting “Hey!” and then races after them.

It’s probably a stupid move. No. It’s _definitely_ a stupid move, but Diego realizes he left most of his knives _and his phone_ in the car when he’s already gaining on the guy. He’s not sure how he’ll catch him; if he tackles the guy, there’s a possibility that the girl will knock her head against the ground and he’d rather not be responsible for any brain damage, thank you. Then again, he can’t just ask the guy to stop and expect him to listen.

He swears, rounding the corner and finds out the guy choose another option.

The girl is lying on the ground, and Diego spares her a glance before hands come around him, around his throat. He rolls his eyes- same old, same old- but then the tattoos start glowing. Toxic, neon blue, and his head spins, vision going to hell and he thinks, _fuck._ He thinks, _you gotta be kidding me_.

He thinks, _this might as well happen_ , and passes out.


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* prepare yourselves. That's all.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Dad is still pissed.

Fuck, Dean is still pissed. He’s pissed at Sam for ditching them, he’s pissed at Diego for going behind his back, and he’s pissed at himself for acting like a complete fucking douchebag. He wants to apologize- _Jesus fuck, what was he thinking?!_ \- but Diego hung up on him and when Dean called him again, he didn’t even pick up. And, yeah, granted, Dean wouldn’t pick up either, but still. He’s sorry and he might as well shout it at the wall right now.

He drinks what’s left of his lukewarm coffee with a grimace and sets the mug into the sink. He looks out the window, watches Bobby and Dad bicker about one thing or the other. Bobby’s on Sam’s side in this mess he left behind, so they might be fighting about that too.

He scrubs a hand over his eyes, wondering what Sam’s doing right now. Dean made him promise to call once he arrives at Palo Alto, and he did, but not much after that. Dean might have put him off with his tone, but c’mon, who wouldn’t be mad in his place? Sam’s got to know he’s still worried about what’s going on with him, though.

His phone goes off and he digs it out of his jeans, half hoping it’s Diego, so he can finally apologize and things can go back as they were before.

It’s Sam, and he hurries to answer it all the same.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Hey,” Sam says in that voice that means he’s frowning, “nothing with me but… have you talked to Diego lately?”

Dean blinks, thinks, _oh, great, they do talk behind my back_ , and doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

“No, not in a few days. Why?”

“I’ve called him and he’s not picking up,” Sam says.

“We had a fight. He’s probably pissed and won’t answer any calls.” Dean shrugs.

“You sure? What did you get into a fight about?”

Dean scowls at the floor, “It’s not- because of you.”

“Me?” Sam squeaks.

“Yeah. He talked you into leaving.”

“What? Dean. He didn’t.”

Dean frowns, “But he said you talked about…stuff,” actually, Dean doesn’t know the exact topic of their conversations. Diego said family and what Sam wants to do, but he’s not- Dean wouldn’t listen.

_Fuck_.

“Yeah, but he didn’t talk me into anything. Oh my God, what did you tell him? Is he pissed at me now? Call him to apologize.”

“I already did! He’s not answering my calls.”

“Mine neither. _Ugh, Dean_.”

“I didn’t tell him anything that would make him mad at you!”

“Maybe something’s wrong then,” Sam says.

“C’mon, now,” Dean huffs, “he’s just pissed.”

There’s no way something bad would add up like that with the exact time when they’re in an argument.

“And what if he isn’t? What if he got kidnapped or something?”

“Sam.”

“It’s possible! Dean, I called him ten times.”

Dean swallows because okay, that’s weird.

“Ten?”

“Yeah. He didn’t pick up once,” Sam says seriously. Dean spent more time with Diego, but he knows he and Sam got on well. They were as good friends as Dean and Diego were. _Are_ ; Dean’s gonna fix this.

But shit-

“Did you try leaving a message?”

“Yeah, every time.”

“Maybe he’s lost his phone,” Dean rationalizes, ignoring the unease creeping up his throat.

“Really, Dean?” Sam’s not impressed. Dean hears a noise in the background, then Sam says with a sigh, “I gotta go. But call me if something happens.”

Dean nods, feeling a pang of hurt and jealousy at Sam’s new life ( _a life without Dean_ ) and says, “Yeah, will do. Bye.”

“Bye,” Sam ends the call and Dean frowns at his phone because, shit, now Sam’s planted a bug in his ear.

In a spur of a moment, he dials Diego’s number and waits as it rings. Eventually, it switches to voicemail.

The unease magnifies and he clears his throat.

“Hey, Diego, it’s me. I- I want to apologize. You know, I’m… I’m sorry for saying that, it was an asshole move. And for lashing out on you. I was mad- and that’s not an excuse but yeah, I’m sorry. Call me back.”

  * ●●●●



Diego wakes up dizzy and disoriented and…warm?

He blinks at the familiar ceiling light, the green shade of the walls and the windowpane. He’s back at the mansion.

What is he doing back at the mansion?

He moves, shifting to throw the covers off himself and get out of the bed- and then a hand sneaks around his waist, fingers curling against his stomach, and he flinches. And then freezes on the spot because-

“Whoa, easy, you’ll elbow me in the face.”

It’s Dean. What the fuck?

_What the fuck?_

He nuzzles into the crook of Diego’s neck, pressing his lips against Diego’s skin and _oh, God, oh, fuck_. Is Diego dead?

“What’s going on?” He finds himself asking, staring wide-eyed at the wall.

“Hm?”

“Uh,” he clears his throat, “what time is it?”

“Early,” Dean responds.

Diego rolls his eyes because _no shit_ ; it looks like the Sun’s barely up.

Dean kisses the back of his neck, then his shoulder, and then the back of his upper arm before leaning over and oh, God, he’s _really close_. Diego can see individual freckles on his nose.

“Morning,” he says, leaning in, and Diego manages to mutter out, ”Morning,” back just before their lips meet.

It’s- he might have hit his head. He probably hit his head. It’s a valid explanation for this.

Dean crowds over him, nipping at his lips and grinning against his mouth and yeah, he’s definitely hit his head and this is all a dream.

He hesitantly wraps his hand around Dean’s wrist, just for the sake of doing something with it. Hit in the head or not, he doesn’t really understand what’s going on.

And Dean’s tongue in his mouth is not helping.

Still, he doesn’t do anything to stop him. After all, after that fuck up he pulled off, he doubts he’ll hear from Dean again. The real Dean. Not Dean who’s currently sneaking a hand down the back of his pajamas.

He thinks he can indulge this for a while.

  * ●●●●



“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Dean jerks out of staring at the space- the cracked window of a car skeleton in front of Bobby’s porch-, gnawing at the thoughts of “what if” roaming around his head since Sam’s call. He looks up at Dad.

“Nothing, I was just thinking. We got a case?” He asks, eager to get something else to occupy his mind with.

Sadly, his dad shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he scratches his cheek, then adds, “if something comes up though, maybe I and Bobby can take it.”

Dean blinks, “Like, without me?”

Dad sighs, “You’ve been pulling your weight lately, really. Both yours and…and Sammy’s. Thought you’d like a break.”

Dean is not sure he’s hearing right, but he nods, for the lack of better response.

Dad gives him a small smile and a pat on his shoulder before going inside the house.

His phone’s burning a hole in his pocket, he’s imagined it going off and fumbled for it like a jackass more than once, only to find out it’s all in his head. Diego didn’t call back. Didn’t send a message. Nothing.

He called Sam and he said he didn’t hear back from him either.

He knocks his knuckles on the porch and takes out his phone. No missed calls, no new messages, no voicemail.

_Fuck it_ , he thinks, dialing Diego’s number again.

Voicemail, Goddamnit.

“Hey, it’s me again. Look, um, if you wanna be pissed, okay. I just… Just call me or, hell, send me a “fuck you” message so I know you’re alive. Fuck it, call Sam, at least.”

  * ●●●●



He’s eating breakfast with Dean, very confused (and very happy with how his day started). He shovels a spoonful of Fruit Loops in his mouth, crunching on it, and looks around the kitchen.

There’s a note stuck on the fridge with a ‘G’ shaped magnet, saying, “Went to the store. –Mom” and it’s something that Diego’s put away to ponder over later. Because notes? On Reginald Hargreeves' kitchen appliances? Unacceptable.

He grumbles to himself- or at least so he thought because Dean chuckles next to him.

“What’s up with the grumpy face today?”

Diego frowns, “I don’t have a grumpy face.”

“Sure do,” Dean says, chewing, and points a spoon at him, “right now, too.”

Diego forcibly stomps down on a scowl and shoves more cereal in his mouth.

He catches his reflection on the toaster, blurry as it is, but still. There’s something that he can’t put his finger on that makes him feel strange.

“But really, what’s going on?”

He turns his head to face Dean, “Huh?”

“You’ve been weird since you woke up. Something on your mind?”

He swallows, thinking, _yeah, you and all of this_.

“No, it’s just- I guess it’s just that kind of a day,” he shrugs.

Dean hums, standing up with his empty bowl and walking to the sink, brushing his fingers over Diego’s nape in passing.

That’s the weirdest thing of them all, he thinks. Diego is not sure he’s been exposed to so much casual touching from anyone except Mom, Klaus and occasionally someone else from his siblings. And that’s only when he’d get hurt or sick and then everyone would rush to baby him. And even that hasn’t happened in a long while.

Eudora used to pat him on the shoulder or smack him upside the head on occasion, but that was about it.

It takes him an embarrassing moment to figure out who Eudora is, and when he does, it makes him even more confused. How does he know her, exactly? And what does she look like? He feels like he should know that.

He hears Dean sigh behind him and then feels a kiss planted to his temple.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

He nods, “Yeah, I could use some fresh air.”

  * ●●●●



Dean grumbles and stomps around the junkyard aimlessly, looking at his phone every once in a while before giving up and marching to the house before the guilt and worry eat him completely.

“Hey, um,” he stops, not sure how to continue now that he’s faced with both Dad’s and Bobby’s curious eyes.

“What? Spit it out,” Bobby grumps.

He mostly focuses on Dad as he speaks, “So, if you’re gonna bench me for the next hunt, whenever that is, I was thinking about going over to Diego’s.”

“To work a case?”

“I, uh, no? I don’t think so? I don’t know yet,” he admits. It could be that Diego just stumbled upon a normal, everyday criminal and is in the hospital now, perfectly safe from supernatural uglies. But even that thought makes him nauseous and he thinks, no, Diego’s just pissed and not answering his phone like a dramatic asshole that he secretly is. Everything’s gonna be fine.

Dean will come to meet up with him, they’ll shout some more, he’ll apologize and everything’s gonna be _fine._

Dad hums, “Check in from time to time and we’re good.”

Dean nods, already backing up towards the stairs, “Yeah, of course.”

  * ●●●●



Diego is looking and not believing what he’s seeing. His reflection stares at him from the mirror, the equal mixture of confusion, shock, and dread on its face. His scars are gone. The one on his eyebrow, and the one above his ear. The ones on the rest of his body, chest, back, legs, his hands. They’re all gone.

He traces un-scarred fingers over un-scarred skin and swallows harshly.

“What the hell,” he mutters.

That’s wrong. That is- all wrong. He’s not the greatest fan of his scars, never was, but damnit, they’re his. He earned them and he owned them and now they’re all gone. Why? And how?

“Diego,” Dean calls from outside, “you about done? Park’s gonna get closed by the time you get ready.”

He grins at the teasing and spares another uneasy glance at the mirror before opening the door.

“Parks are public property, always available, they don’t get closed,” he says.

Dean grins, “They should, maybe then you’d get ready faster.”

“Jackass.”

“You love me.”

Diego laughs because _shit, if you only knew_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hint: I'm just peppering my Dean/Diego (or Deanego- *talk shipnames to me!* :D) feels over this. And I was asking myself if I was going to full-on write dream!sexytimes- and then I decided to save it for when the real thing finally happens. (Sorry not sorry, love you guys <3)


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay, it might be just me, but I feel like it's been forever since the last update. This one is a tiny bit shorter, but- it's here :D
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Packed and ready, Dean sets out, leaving Bobby’s junkyard in Impala’s rear view mirror.

He has absolutely no idea how he’ll find Diego. _If_ he’s missing, that is- he adds hastily. Positive thoughts and all that crap. He knows where he lives, Diego sent him the address when he first moved in after dropping out of the academy, but besides that- nothing. His best guess is asking in Griddy’s, but who knows what the last time Diego went there was. This would’ve been easier if they still lived in the city; back then, they’ve seen each other almost every day and Dean knew exactly where he could find him.

But it’s been a few years since they’ve seen each other face-to-face and hell, Dean might not even recognize him anymore.

Okay, that’s a lie. Dean is pretty sure he could spot those eyes ( _seriously, it’s like looking at the human incarnation of Bambi_ ) and that grumpy frown anywhere. And the pockets heavy with knives, now that Dean knows to look for them, and a presence that seems to glow and is yet invisible to the eye. But he’s encroaching the rom-com territory with that last one, so he safely moves on to another topic.

The fields and forests rush by and he nostalgically thinks about how many times he’s driven past the same sceneries in his life. Dad behind the wheel, the radio turned on low, and he and Sam in the backseat, before they started growing up and calling dibs on the passenger seat and its extra leg space. How there’s always been the three of them, or hell, just Sam and Dean, against the world. Nothing seemed hard or scary if he knew Sam was safe and had his back.

In the end, he doesn’t know whether to blame the knots in his stomach on Sam’s absence or the fear of whatever’s going on with Diego. Maybe both.

  * ●●●●



Diego didn’t pay that much attention to the house at first, he admits. There is a warm sort of strangeness to it. Diego knows every hall, crook, and cranny, how light cast shadows in each room, but he feels like he’s watching everything through a filter. Then there’s the matter of pictures.

Where the portrait of Reginald Hargreeves hung in the living room, there is a big family photo. It’s a few years old, obviously, but there they are. The background is all sand and stones, a desert of some kind, he guesses, and their old missions’ van. Diego and his siblings are standing in front of it, skin flushed with heat and joy. Klaus has his arms around both Ben’s and Diego’s necks, their cheeks smushed with Klaus’ and faces scrunched up while Klaus beams at the camera. On one side, Five is standing with his arms crossed, seemingly not enthralled with the idea of photographing, but there’s a faint smile on his lips, and Vanya’s arms looped around his middle as she also grins widely toward the camera. Luther and Allison are standing next to each other on the other side, looking at each other instead of the camera, and their hands are just barely concealed by Diego’s own hand. Mom is standing behind all of them, flashing that movie star smile of hers. It’s a terrible photo overall, really. The ‘taken in the worst moment possible’ kind where everybody looks slightly insane.

He stares numbly at it, affection and pain washing over him at the same time. They’ve never had this. Just those godforsaken portraits and framed paper clippings. Faces concealed by domino masks and uniforms devoid of any personality marking them like items ( _not even proper names_ ) and empty words in dried ink as reminders of their purpose.

He hasn’t seen Five since they were 13, but he knows what his brother looks like- or, well, he knows what he _thinks_ he’d look like if he stayed. Scrawny and tall because he was always a twig, but still not outgrowing any of them, Luther the least, and looking forever bored by everything, but looking fondly at his dumb siblings whenever he thinks nobody’s watching.

And Ben looks alive and well and happy despite the grimace he’s making in the photo and Diego gets a strong urge to never leave this place.

“Diego, dear, are you alright?”

He jerks and turns around to face Mom, startled because he was so deep in his musing that he didn’t hear her come in.

“Oh, yeah, I’m- I’m fine,” he reassures.

_At least Mom didn’t change_ , he thinks, looking at her polka dots skirt and curled hair.

“Are you sure?”

He nods, “Mhm, I’m sure. I’ll go, um-“ he stops, realizing that he doesn’t actually know what he can do here.

At his confusion, Mom takes his hand in both of hers and asks with a smile, “Do you want to join me in the garden?”

He nods again, lost for words because he has Dean here, and they have a garden.

  * ●●●●



Out of all of his siblings, Diego didn’t expect the first one he’d meet here would be Luther.

He’s making his way up the stairs, feeling sleepy after a few hours in the garden with Mom ( _a garden without the creepy statue because Ben is alive_ ), watching her pluck the weeds and helping her water some of the plants in the shade. The front door almost smacks against the wall with the vigor Luther uses to open them, strolling in with a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He catches sight of Diego and grins, jogging up the stairs to catch up with him.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you yet today. What’s up?” He wonders, clapping Diego on the shoulder.

Diego’s brain stops working for a moment then, not sure what to do with the casual affection. Luther usually refrained from touching other people if he could avoid it, especially when their powers first manifested and he had about zero control of how hard he was going to grip their hands, or high-five them, or punch them. He mostly learned to control it, but Diego supposes it turned into a habit, staying away.

( _Sadly, because Luther was one of best huggers in the family- not that Diego would admit as much. Ever._ )

He swallows and says, “Nothing, I’m just going to my room.”

Luther grins at him, “What, you need a nap already?”

Diego narrows his eyes at him, “Some of us don’t have inhuman stamina,” he hisses.

He realizes it wasn’t a mean question or a jab and he overreacted when hurt flashes across Luther’s face, wiping off his smile momentarily before he clears his throat and lets his hand fall from Diego’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I was joking. I’ll, um, leave you alone then,” he says, quickly moving down the hall before Diego can say anything else.

He stands in the middle of the hallway for a bit after that, debating whether to go apologize to Luther or not, and eventually just gives up and stomps into his room.

  * ●●●●



Dean notices something’s sour in his mood as soon as he gets back from work (a mechanic shop in the city managed by his dad and uncle), but he doesn’t prod.

“What happened?”

Well, he doesn’t prod too much.

Diego shrugs, twirling a pen between his fingers even though he’s just lying in his bed and has no intentions of writing anything.

“Luther and I, you know.”

Dean frowns, plopping down on the edge of the mattress, “But you two are getting along well, usually.”

Another new thing, it seems.

“Usually,” Diego agrees for the sake of keeping this up.

“You wanna talk about it?”

He does. It would be good to talk about everything with someone who will listen. But words have never been Diego’s stronger suit; too weak, or too sharp, cutting at all the wrong times, or simply not able to get pushed past his lips, stuck somewhere in his throat. So he sighs, shaking his head.

  * ●●●●



Dean parked in front of the boxing club just after the sun has set, held awake only by the three cups of coffee he had in a diner outside of the city’s limits and nervous energy. _What if Diego is here, completely fine and still mad, and they’ve blown this out of proportions?_

He enters the building, eyes flitting over the room in search of a familiar face. It’s pretty late, and it seems like the place is about to close for today, so he quickly eliminates the few faces roaming about. No Diego in sight.

“Can I help you?”

He turns at the sound of a voice from his left, catching a man walking towards him. The owner, probably.

“Maybe. I’m looking for Diego,” he says.

The man scratches his neck, “Diego? Sorry, haven’t seen him in a while. A few days, at least.”

His hope of Diego being out of harm’s way diminishes and he slumps slightly with exhaustion.

“Oh.”

So if Diego is really missing, he has to find a motel and start looking for him-

“The boy’s lucky he actually does some good work when he gets to it every now and then or I’d have kicked him to the curb already for disappearing on me like that. His room is in the back,” the man continues, sensing his lack of energy, “you steal or break anything, I’ve got the cops on speed dial. Clear?”

Dean nods and stumbles towards the general direction the man pointed at. He finds Diego’s room easily enough, nowhere near as fancy as the mansion, but still obviously his. The only personal touch in it is the framed embroidery on the wall and that metal case underneath his bed. Dean doesn’t even need to look to know it’s filled to the brim with blades of various kinds.

And Dean doesn’t have a chance to observe more, instead, throws himself face-first onto the mattress and sinking into sleep.


	4. 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY FOR A MISSED UPDATE! These two weeks were hella busy, so I didn't have time to write, but hopefully that won't happen again.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Dean hasn’t really paid much attention to…well, anything when he arrived last night. But now he wakes up surrounded by warmth and smell of fabric softener and mint. He notices the row of knives neatly arranged on a small coffee table, a layer of a couple of days worth dust covering them. The framed embroidery is a strange, completely Diego-like detail and Dean likes on those sole grounds. He could bet his mom, Grace, made it, and wonders how’d she even come to know what Diego does.

Hell, sometimes, Dean wonders how he has even started doing what he does. Diego responds most of the questions Dean has, but it’s all still crumbles. Vague. Though, everything he does know about Diego makes perfect sense and no sense at all, at the same time. So he wonders would that change if he had more information or if he’d just get lost in all of that.

  * ●●●●



He hits the streets as soon as he’s dressed, not even knowing where to start, but getting into the Impala and driving off anyway. He briefly toys the idea of going to his home, to that huge mansion, but decides to leave it as a last option. Diego was not on good terms with his dad and brother, there was no reason for him to go there.

At least as much as Dean can tell. When was the last time they even talked about Diego’s family?

He sighs heavily, hands gripping the wheel because he’d do better if he was running in circles.

In a moment, h decides to go check in Griddy’s, counting that the place is still open and he hasn’t forgotten how to get to there.

When he gets there (only one wrong turn later), there’s nothing for him. The woman he remembers from years ago still works there, but she informs him that Diego hasn’t stopped by recently. She looks as sad and as disappointed as Dean feels. The library is a failed shot too, as is the park.

By the time his stomach demands food, he’s irritated and frustrated enough not to notice someone sneak up to him, where he’s parked on the side of the street. There are a few dull, quick palm smacks against his window- _Goddamnit, that’s gonna leave handprints_ \- and then his eyes get assaulted by a splash of bright colors and sparkles. There’s only one person in this damn city that he can think of to appear in public looking like a rainbow spit them out, and it takes him less than a second to recognize the face.

He scrambles out of the car, startling the skinny figure, and says hopefully, “Klaus?”

The guy looks at him wide-eyed, then squints like his eyes can’t quite focus on Dean and makes a face while responding, “Aww, did we fuck already?”

Dean splutters as his head twitches to the side like he’s hearing something Dean isn’t. In fact, he’s all twitchy, looking pale and faded despite his wardrobe.

“I- no. No, I’m a friend of Diego’s, Dean,” he says.

Klaus lights up like someone told him Christmas came early this year.

“Diego?! Where is he?!” He shouts, looking around frantically.

Dean realizes this is not what he needed today, “I don’t know,” he confesses, “I thought you might help me with that.”

“Me?”

Dean nods.

Klaus sighs, “I miss Diego. Diego was nice. And Vanya. And Ally, too. And Luther before he turned into a dick.”

A brief pause, then, “Nah, Five was always a little prick. But I miss him too.”

“What about Ben?” Dean asks because while this might not help him find Diego, it might give him some other answers.

Klaus, surprisingly, snorts and responds lightly, “A person has to be gone for you to miss ‘em.”

Dean has no fucking idea what to say to that- or what that means- so he just gently coaxes him into the car with a promise of waffles.

  * ●●●●



For a guy that looks like he barely has internal organs, Klaus sure as hell can eat.

Dean watches him pour half a bottle of syrup on his second serving of waffles, all the while talking to himself, leading a one-sided conversation and barely paying Dean any attention.

If Dean didn’t know them, he’d peg Klaus for a picky eater, not Diego, but he should get used to the fact that nothing’s how it seems with Diego and his family.

Also, Klaus nostalgic moment gave him a new idea.

“Hey, uh, Klaus?” He starts.

Diego’s brother spares him a glance of acknowledgment before focusing on his food again.

“Can you tell me what happened to Five?”

There’s a small, short falter in Klaus’ movements, ‘ _blink and you’ll miss it_ ’ kind before his demeanor returns to nonchalant.

He shrugs, “Went missing. Bye-bye.”

Dean frowns, “Yeah. But how exactly did he go missing? Diego said he had a fight with your dad?”

Another shrug, accompanied by a grimace at the mention of their father, but no verbal response. It feels like Klaus definitely knows and wants to tell more, but like there’s something keeping him back.

Dean sighs, “I’m trying to help Diego. I think he might be looking for Five, but I need more information.”

Something in his response makes Klaus stop eating. He looks at Dean seriously- and then gives a sharp, short laugh. Like Dean’s suggestion is something ridiculous.

“Ha! Looking for Five! That’s a nice one!” He says, pointing a fork at Dean.

“Why? You think Diego wouldn’t go looking for his missing sibling?”

Klaus shakes his head, “If it was anybody else, he would’ve.”

“Why not Five?”

It doesn’t make sense. When Diego talked about Five, there was no indication that he was pissed at him or anything that would make him give up on him.

“Because it’s Five.”

Dean still doesn’t get it, but he feels like this won’t get him anywhere, so he lets it go and asks instead, “Well, where would Five go?”

Klaus laughs again, but it’s humorless and hollow. He shrugs, “It’s Five,” he says again miserably, “he could go wherever the fuck he wanted. Lucky bastard.”

  * ●●●●



Dean should’ve just let Klaus go on his merry way. He sure as hell looks indifferent to whether he’ll go with Dean or leave God knows where on his own.

He’ll just disrupt Dean’s investigation. And Dean really doesn’t have time to babysit him while looking for Diego. He should just keep going on his own.

“Hey, Klaus, wanna go for a ride?”

  * ●●●●



Klaus is either a punishment or a blessing because the guy knows every single song on Dean’s tapes, but he just _won’t shut up_. He’s like an overexcited puppy trapped in a human body. Dean had to order him to put on a seatbelt- _a goddamn seatbelt_ \- because he’s sure Klaus would at some point try to climb out the freaking window.

Dean sneaks a glance at him- he’s banging his head to the rhythm, dark curls bouncing around his head and bursting out to sing lyrics every once in a while. Honestly, Dean’s can’t tell if that just Klaus, or if he’s high on something at the moment. Might be either or both.

At one point, he turns to look at Dean and says, “Hey, I remember you! You’re Diego’s date!”

Dean slams on the brakes so hard both of them lurches forward, Klaus bounding off of the seatbelt and back into his seat, while Dean braces himself with his hands firmly on the wheel.

“I’m a what?”

“Diego’s date! From the motel!” Klaus exclaims, then twists to throw, “I totally remember now, they were so cute,” at the backseat.

Dean splutters because, “No, no, no. We’re not- I’ m just his friend. There’s no dating happening.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Klaus drawls, patting his arm.

Dean opens his mouth to protest again, but once more decides it’s not worth it and instead recalls another shocking part of this conversation.

“You had no idea who I was until now?!”

Klaus shakes his head and says, “Not a fucking clue.”

  * ●●●●



He’s in the kitchen when Diego sees him, lanky limbs and sharp lines of a face that he’d last seen when they were just a bunch of stupid kids.

He stands there like an idiot, making a fool of himself, but Five is making that stupid waffles- marshmallows sandwich in their kitchen. Like there was never the time when that never happened anymore.

He arches an eyebrow at Diego, once staring drags on for too long.

“You need something?”

Diego should probably say something. Some kind of an excuse or anything not to make this weird.

He hugs him. He feels confusion radiating from him, but Five gives him a pat on the back in spite of that. He’s not- _fucking hell, he’s not going to cry, okay?_ He’s just- he’s just missed him.

“Okay,” Five says slowly, “you’ve gotten your hug. Can I get my sandwich now?”

Diego jerks because crap, he’s making this weird, and steps back, saying, “Yeah, go ahead. Weirdo.”

A look that Five gives him indicates that they both know he’s not the one acting weird here, but he doesn’t comment further as he retreats from the room.

Diego sniffles and thinks, _yeah, he’s definitely making this weird. Good job, Two_.


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I know I implied regular updates last time, but real life pulled a prank on me again. So, uh, oopsie?
> 
> But anyway, the update is here at last.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Dean kind of hates that it comes to this. There’s a guilty feeling in his gut, shifting around unpleasantly when he thinks about how well he actually knows Diego. "When" meaning "a lot" right now and "how well" meaning "barely". And it’s not- it’s not anyone’s fault. He can admit to himself that he could have asked, could have poked for more, could have pressed Diego for answers that are not just vague and mostly ominous. But that wouldn’t be fair.

Dean hates thinking and talking about how his mom died. And he was just a little kid, he can only just recall feeling scared, hearing the fire crackling in his ears, Dad shouting, and Sammy crying and squirming as he carried him outside in his arms.

Diego was, what, 16, 17 when Ben died? And 13 when Five- it’s still such a bizarre name- disappeared. And he doesn’t know what exactly went down either, so he can’t judge Diego’s unwillingness to share. He just…has to respect that.

Which is why this feels so wrong.

Klaus fidgets in the seat next to him. He’s been silent since they turned into the alleyway behind the mansion and looking like he’s ready to flee the scene every second on a simple whim.

He frowns at the backdoor that leads to the kitchen and that he’d used to sneak in while they lived in the city.

“Alright,” he says to himself but still loud enough for Klaus to hear,” let’s go.”

He’s got on foot on the gravel when Klaus says, “Yeah, you go on without me. I’ll wait here.”

“What?”

Klaus blinks at him and says, “I don’t go inside.”

Which doesn’t make much sense to Dean. He gets that the mansion probably doesn’t hold a lot of good memories for him- from what he knows, it doesn’t hold a lot of good memories for Diego either- but he thought Klaus would like to see his mom, at least.

“Not even to see your mom?”

He regrets asking because Klaus aims his gaze at the door, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyes sad, filled with longing and shining. He swallows, lets out a shaky breath and shakes his head.

It makes sense after that and Dean gets out with a nod. He wonders if Ben died in that house and thinks how he doesn’t want to go back to their old home in Lawrence as long as he’s alive as well.

  * ●●●●



Figuring out what to do after entering the mansion is much easier than he had expected. Especially because, as the door clicks shut again and he turns on his heels, he’s faced with one Grace Hargreeves and almost goddamn dies on the spot.

He jerks in surprise and bites down on a swear on the tip of his tongue.

“Geez- I mean, um. You scared me, ma’am,” he says for the lack of anything smarter to say.

She smiles like she’s not thrown off by his visit at all, and reaches out for him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to!” She says earnestly, her hands on his shoulders. “Look at you! You’ve grown so much!” She comments and, to his utmost surprise, pulls him into a hug.

He settles his hands on her waist awkwardly while she gives him a light squeeze. Out of all possible reactions, he did not expect this. In fact, he wasn’t even sure she’d remember him. This family just keeps on surprising him.

“Yeah,” he responds with an embarrassed chuckle when she lets him go, “it’s been a while.”

She nods, “It certainly has,” she agrees, then asks, “Tea? Something to eat?”

“Oh, um, no. Thank you.”

“Oh? I assume you’re here for Diego? I’m afraid he has moved out, but I suppose I could give him a call,” she tells him cheerily.

“I am here for Diego, but it’s not- it’s kinda complicated,” Dean responds.

She prompts him to elaborate with a curious tilt of her head. Now that Dean thinks about it, she doesn’t look a day older than she did when he last saw her. _Who would’ve thought that raising seven children keeps you young, eh?_

He takes a breath, debating how bad she is going to freak out when he tells her, and says, “I think Diego might be missing. But I’m all out of ideas about where he might be and I thought- I thought I might find some clues here.”

Once again, to his surprise, Grace doesn’t do much more than blink. Her expression shifts to a subtle frown and she folds her hands at her middle.

“Hm,” she says, “that is troubling.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, still waiting for a belated, motherly meltdown that he has witnessed countless times on cases.

“Hm,” she says again instead. Then she smiles at him effortlessly, says, “let me see what I can do about that,” and hurries out of the kitchen.

Dean stays standing there, dumbfounded.

Okay. So he might not have figured out what to do yet.

At least it seems like Grace has, though.

  * ●●●●



He lounges in the kitchen for about ten more minutes. He pokes around the cupboards a bit, eyebrows steadily rising up to his hairline at the impressive collection of spices with names that he can’t pronounce, and frowning at the posters taped on the walls; the ones showing how to use various kitchen appliances as weapons. He thinks he’s starting to understand Diego a bit better after that.

Then he hears the rhythmic, measured clicking of heels against the floor and turns to face Grace. He wants to ask her if she’s found something, anything- but the look of panic in her eyes, concealed by a neutral mask on her face, keeps him quiet. She shoos him subtly towards the big metal shelf and the crates behind it and he goes without a question because, yeah, he can hear it now; the second pair of footsteps, light enough he wouldn’t notice them if he wasn’t paying attention.

He crouches down, feeling of déjà vu washing over him and reminding him of the first time he got in this house. When Diego was the one pushing him to hide- from Grace, no less.

( _And undressing right in front of him, but that’s not important._ )

He peaks over the side of the crate, additionally sheltered by jars on the shelf, and sees Diego’s brother, Luther, walking in.

There’s no mistaking him, really; he’s as blond and as tall and buff as he was when Dean saw him through Diego’s bedroom window.  Well, he’s taller and more buff than he was.

“Who were you talking to, Mom?” He asks curiously, walking over to the cupboard to grab a glass and fill it with water.

“Oh, nobody, dear,” Grace smiles, “just thinking out loud while cleaning,” she lies easily.

Luther nods, “Oh.”

He’s wearing sweatpants, slippers and a blue bed robe, which is not what Dean really expected from him, based on the first impression he got.

He drains his water and sets the glass in the sink, and on his way out asks, “Do you want to watch a movie with me later?”

Grace nods with a grin, “Of course.”

He grins back, immediately looks like an overgrown puppy- and reminds Dean strangely of Sam- and leaves with spring in his step.

Dean is still weirded out by the whole scene when Grace beckons him back to his feet and says, “I tracked Diego’s phone. It has been in the same location for a few days, so he might have just lost it there, but it’s worth to check it out, yes?”

Dean takes in what she said and asks, “You tracked his phone?” because _seriously, what’s up with these people?_

Grace nods, “Yes. Address?”

“…Yeah, thanks.”

It’s one clue more than he had before.

Address safely tucked in his jacket’s pocket, he prepares to leave when a glance towards the door stops him. He turns towards Grace, who has already started folding dry dishcloths into a drawer.

“Uh, ma’am?” He calls.

She looks at him expectantly, smiling.

“Yes?”

“Um, there’s- Klaus is with me. Outside. Do you want to come to say hi?”

And finally- _finally_ \- she straightens in surprise before giving him a genuine, touched little smile. “I’d love that.”

  * ●●●●



Klaus scrambles out of the car so fast Dean worries he’ll trip over his own feet and fall on his face when he sees them.

“Mom!” He squeaks delighted and flings himself at her.

She wraps her arms around him in a gentle but firm embrace, cooing at him, just as delighted.

Dean watches, feeling slightly like he’s intruding, as Klaus positively melts, clinging to her like a small child. He’s noticed how tactile Klaus is, and Grace knows it too, indulging him and petting his hair, tucking stray strands behind his ears and brushing them out of his face. It’s a shameless show of affection between a child and a mother and Dean aches for it, seeing what he’s missing out on.

He waits for Klaus in the car, although slightly surprised when he actually gets in instead of staying with his mom. He doesn’t ask, though, because he still has to find Diego. And he finally- _hopefully_ \- has a real lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens? Let me know what you think ;)


	6. 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one where something finally happens lol
> 
> Enjoy! :)

They drive to the address Grace gave him in relative silence, Led Zeppelin a background noise and Klaus telling the backseat how much he’d missed his mom. Dean wants to ask him who he’s talking to, but he figures it’s hallucinations from the drugs. Or maybe the guy just likes to talk to himself.

He recognizes Diego’s car parked on the sidewalk as soon as they round the corner and parks behind it, heart skipping with nerves. They better find something here because otherwise, they’ll be back at the square one.

Klaus scrambles out of the Impala after him, following to Diego’s car on clumsy feet. Dean peers in through the window, taking notice of a jacket haphazardly thrown over a couple of knives on the front seat, and a phone on top of it.

“Hm, what? Oh, yeah, it does feel weird here. Real funky, yeah,” he hears Klaus rambling behind him.

It looks like Diego left in a hurry; it’s not like him to leave his knives just laying around. The ones on the coffee table in his place, Dean just assumed- hoped- that he was staying out longer than anticipated because of a case and that’s why he didn’t put them away. But this is different.

He’s trying to see if there’s anything else that could be useful to them when he hears shuffling and a voice asking, “Excuse me? Can I help you?”

He straightens and turns away from the car to face an elderly man dressed in the world’s most grandpa pullover.

“Yeah, uh, hi, there,” he greets awkwardly, acutely aware of Klaus swaying on his feet, pink flip-flops and garishly colorful shirt shining like a disco ball proudly on display.

The man’s face twitches, struggling to keep his expression from showing what he thinks about Klaus’ fashion choices.

“Is this your car, young man?”

“No, no. It’s my friend’s. You might have seen him? About yee tall,” he raises his hand to his own approximate height, “dark hair, probably had a knife in hand?”

The man nods as his eyes narrow, “I’ve seen him. I was watching the Wheel of fortune when I heard a noise outside and just caught him getting into the alley,” he points at the alley between the two buildings behind Dean’s back, “ran in there like hell was on his heels.”

There’s a bang and they both turn to Klaus who’s bracing himself against the trunk of the car.

“Whoopsie,” he tells them with a grin.

The man frowns, “He’s your friend too?” He asks in a tone that suggests Dean should find himself some new company.

“Uh…”

Before he can figure out what to say, Klaus asks, “How long has my brother’s car been here?”

Dean blinks because Klaus keeps jumping from being on the cloud nine to Nancy Drew.

“Your brother’s?” Grandpa asks suspiciously.

“Twins. Both jaw-dropping gorgeous, haven’t you noticed?”

_And back to cloud nine._

Dean clears his throat to get them back on track, “So, the car. How long has it been here?”

“Since Friday. Or Saturday, early morning. It was past midnight, I’m sure.”

So the car and the phone were here since Dean called and they had their fight. He supposes it’s safe to assume that this is where Diego went missing.

“Okay. Anything else? Something strange that caught your eye lately?” He questions.

The man scratches his beard, “Hm, nothing I can recall. Except for all those people going missing. Maybe your friend got pulled in that too.”

  * ●●●●



‘ _All those people missing_ ’ turns out to be five people that disappeared without a trace in the time span of three weeks- six people, counting Diego.

Dean traces his fingers over a map spread over a table in the library, marking their addresses with a red sharpie. They all live relatively close by, save for Diego.

He looks up to check on Klaus, who’s flipping the pages of a random book he snagged off a bookshelf without reading it. His eyes keep straying around, bouncing off bright lights and still life portraits hanging on the walls as his hands turn the pages as on signal.

He returns to his map.

The area is all apartment buildings and a stray Laundromat and a coffee shop here and there. So, really, Diego could be anywhere. An abandoned building would be a good guess, but Dean would have to check if there even is one.

He’s jerked from his musing by a ringtone of his phone and he quickly fumbles for it before they get kicked out.

“Hello?” He asks into the speaker, sending an apologetic smile to a few glares he received for the interruption.

“Dean?” It’s his dad.

“What’s going on, son?”

Dean frowns, “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t call. Everything alright?”

Shit.

“Crap, sorry. I’m- I got caught up.” He apologizes with a wince, rubbing a thumb over his temple.

Thankfully, Dad doesn’t comment on that, instead asks, “You found a case?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.” There’s nothing pointing to a monster, at least not for now, and Diego didn’t exactly stick to the monster-hunting alone.

Dad hums, “Well keep me posted. And if anything comes up that you boys can’t deal with alone, call me, understand?”

Dean nods even though Dad can’t see him, responding, “Yeah, got it,” and ignoring the part of his mind that’s nagging him to tell his dad that Diego is actually missing.

It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine. Dean can deal with this on his own.

_Well, mostly on my own_ , he thinks, casting a glance at Klaus.

“Alright, stay safe,” Dad tells him like he always does.

“You too, bye,” he responds, ending the call.

Okay, he needs to stop wasting time.

  * ●●●●



Diego doesn’t know what anyone actually does, or how they’re all surviving when everyone’s seemingly just lounging around the house all day, but he doesn’t ask because, by now, he knows what this is. It’s a fantasy.

You don’t get all your siblings alive, your mom free, and a guy you’re in love with but who most likely hates you because you poked your nose where it doesn’t belong in reality. You don’t get a happy childhood, unburdened by a man who was anything but a father anywhere except in the most selfish work of fiction. The real world doesn’t work like that.

So, Diego knows it’s not real. He knows it’s all in his head. But he can’t control it. Or, rather, he can’t control himself. He’s too sharp for this place, keeps accidentally cutting everything.

He stares at Allison’s quickly retreating back, running away from him because he’s still a jerk in this dream.

He pops his knuckles, flexing his fingers and itching for a feel of cold, sharp metal against his fingertips.

  * ●●●●



They go to inspect the ‘crime scene’ one more time. Dean pokes around the car some more but he doesn’t find anything that could help him determine whether or not this is a monster’s work.

They set out into the alley that Diego supposedly ran off to, sidestepping a turned over trash can. There’s no sulfur, no claw marks or anything like that.

He takes out his EMF detector.

Klaus peers at it curiously, “What’s that?”

“EMF detector,” Dean tells him, then adds, “it’s, uh, for ghosts.”

Klaus only reaction is to blink. So Diego really did tell him about the supernatural. And he believed it.

Though, Dean’s not sure why he’s surprised.

“Cool,” Klaus concludes, watching him turn it on.

He waves it around the alley, but-

“What’s supposed to happen?”

“Well, if there is a ghost here, this should start-“ Dean turns toward Klaus and stops talking as shrill beeping fills the air. Diego’s brother keeps his eyes on the device, eyebrows climbing towards his hairline before his eyes meet Dean’s.

He stares back at Klaus for a moment before sighing because _of course_ this happens just when he needs it to solve a case concerning Diego.

“Great, I need to do some tuning again,” he says glumly, though his bad mood is immediately lightened when he notices a surveillance camera up on the wall.

Klaus throws a look over his shoulder before turning fully and following him back out of the alley.

  * ●●●●



“So, the feds are really looking into shit like this?” The landlord asks him, leading them to the security office.

“There’s no case too small or too insignificant,” Dean responds just as Klaus says, “Well, somebody has to.”

Dean should have left him in the car.

The landlord casts a look at him.

“He’s…”

“A consultant,” Dean finishes, hoping to convey the ‘ _I know_ ’ tone.

“Right. So, Richie here can show you the tapes,” he gestures to a man sitting in front of a computer screen.

He reaches a hand out to Dean for a handshake.

“Richard Bowly.”

“Agent Cosby, FBI,” Dean recites, “about the tapes…”

“Oh, yeah. We don’t have night shifts, but the camera’s record everything,” Richie says, beckoning him behind the desk. He pulls up the file from Friday night and lets it roll.

“Great, can, uh, I and my associate get a minute here?”

Richie and the landlord shrug, “Sure.”

As they exit, Klaus dances over to look at the screen over his shoulder. He starts humming Heart Shaped Box in his ear and at one point it gets so distracting that Dean almost misses the movement in the right bottom corner.

“That’s it,” he says, lurching forward, closer to the screen, and cutting Klaus off.

He recognizes Diego immediately, even in the slightly grainy quality of the video. The sight of him slaps him in the face with something he doesn’t know how to name. He doesn’t look happy.

The guy holding him in a chokehold is covered by what Dean can just vaguely recognize as tattoos. At least he thinks they’re tattoos- until they start glowing.

_Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, they're finally getting closer to finding Diego- yay??


	7. 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) I really have nothing to say to this.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

A fucking djinn.

Dean downs a beer, watching Klaus help himself to one as well before sprawling over the couch in Diego’s place.

“Yeah, this is not so bad,” he says to the air, eyes closed and the bottle resting on his chest loosely kept upright by his fingers around the neck of it.

_It is bad. Really fucking bad._

Dean never actually hunted a djinn on his own. Or hunted it at all. He heard a story or two, but never encountered it for real. And now one has Diego.

He should call Dad. He knows that. Dad would come down here as fast as he could. Hell, Bobby would probably come too- if he told them that Diego is missing. God, he should’ve told them the whole truth right from the start.

But anyway, they’re- _Diego is_ running out of time. Dad and Bobby might be late and Dean can’t risk that.

The only person who knows what’s going on is Klaus and something tells Dean he’s not exactly the fighting type. _Shit. You found yourself in a nice mess, Winchester_.

He sighs.

“You don’t happen to know a martial artist available to kick some monster’s ass, do you?” He asks Klaus, not even serious but desperate.

Klaus looks at him, says seriously, “Mom. Mom’s a badass.”

Mom. Right.

Dean dismisses it immediately, reminded that this is Klaus, the guy that wasn’t completely sober since Dean met him. Something really fucked up must have happened to him to end up like this, Dean knows- but he also knows it’s not his place to ask. The sound of Diego’s voice whenever they bring it up is enough to have him back off anyway.

And it’s not that Dean thinks Grace couldn’t help because she’s a woman. He’s meet a lot of women who were a force to be reckoned with. It’s just… Grace doesn’t seem like someone who got compelled by life to turn into that kind of a force. She seems like a mother who would treat a skinned knee with kisses and cookies, and not who would bring the fear of God into the bully that pushed you onto the gravel in the park.

And those heels can’t be very practical for kicking ass.

He sighs again.

It looks like it’s just him and Klaus on this one. God help him.

  * ●●●●



“Dean? You found Diego?”

Dean’s fingers twitch around the phone. This was a bad idea. Anger flares up inside him because, Jesus, how selfish can he be?

“Dean?”

He clears his throat, pushing the question he was meaning to ask out of his head.

“Yeah, I’m here. I haven’t found him yet, but I’m getting close,” he says.

“That’s good to hear,” Sam responds on a sigh, “so, what was it?”

“What?”

“What got him?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve got it under control, Sammy,” Dean says even though he very much doesn’t have it under control.

“Dean.”

“Seriously, I’ve got it under control,” he repeats.

“Why won’t you tell me? What’s going on?” Sam persists.

“What do you care? You made it clear you don’t want anything to do with hunting anymore,” Dean snaps. Sure, he was planning on asking- on begging- Sam to come to help him with this mess (even though it would take him longer to come here than it would for Dad), for Diego if nothing else, but Sam was clear on what he wants. And with that, he gave up the right to ask about what Dean’s doing if it’s about the case.

Sam’s quiet on the other side, then he scoffs.

“Okay. Forget I asked,” and then he hangs up.

Dean shoves the phone in his jacket and goes to find a butcher’s shop willing to sell him some lamb blood.

  * ●●●●



He parks a couple of feet away from the second abandoned apartment complex and hopes this is it. The night is dark but not as cold as he had expected- so he can’t figure out why Klaus is wrapping himself in his jacket like there’s snow falling outside.

He turns off the engine and says, “C’mon,” only to stop with one foot out of the car when he notices that Klaus is not making any indication of moving.

“Klaus?”

“Hm? Oh, you go on. I’ll, ah, be the lookout.”

Dean can’t believe this.

“The lookout? Your brother might be in there.”

Klaus hums, “Yeah, yeah.”

He’s looking around, eyes flickering from one invisible point to the next, acting like he’s in some other world at the moment. _Christ. Fantastic_.

“ _Your brother. Diego_. He needs your help, he could be dying. Don’t you fucking care?” He might have stepped over a line because Klaus looks at him sharply and responds with, “Fuck you.”

And, okay. Dean did not expect that. But he can take a ‘fuck you’ like a man, so he sighs and asks him to at least stay in the car.

Klaus harrumphs but doesn’t make a move to leave, so Dean takes it as a win.

He grabs his jar of lamb blood and his knife and gets out.

  * ●●●●



He combs through two floors before finding the right place. The air is damp, but not warm and he can smell the copper in the air as soon as he opens the front door. The sight that greets him right away is three body bags stacked against the wall, the cold and the lack of sunlight keeping them from starting to properly decompose yet. He feels that stab of guilt that is reserved for every person he’s not fast enough to save but pushes it aside because he still has to find Diego and get him out of here.

He unscrews the jar slowly and dips his knife in, coating it in a layer of crimson.

The next room is empty, just packed IV systems, reserved for new victims.

The second though-

Diego is too pale. His fingertips blue and the rope cut into the flesh of his wrists, the tips of his toes barely touching the floor.

He still looks somewhat better than the two guys on either side of him and Dean thinks he should feel guilty for feeling glad, but really, he’s just- he’s just relieved Diego is still alive.

He’s been so caught up in it that he doesn’t notice the djinn until the bastard slinks out from the shadows, clicking his tongue.

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to interrupt someone’s meal, boy?”

“You sick fuck,” Dean grimaces, eying the bags of blood hanging from infusion racks. Diego’s is full while the other two aren’t quite as thick. He doesn’t know whether to be glad that it looks like the bastard hasn’t fed on him so much, or to be scared because that’s not a small amount of blood in that bag.

“Ah,” the djinn says, catching his line of view, “I’ve been savoring this one.”

He drags an inked hand over Diego’s face, thumb digging into his cheek.

“Tastes like nothing I had before. A real treat.”

“You fucker,” Dean seethes, “get your fucking hands off of him.”

He hates to call Diego helpless, but he’s vulnerable and unaware of anything right now, he can’t defend himself and it’s wrong.

The djinn tuts at him, “After you drop the knife.”

_Son of a bitch_.

Dean throws the knife on the floor and the clattering sound has goosebumps breaking over his skin. He’s practically defenseless now.

The djinn lunges at him.

Now, Dean would argue it was brilliant. His dad would say it was reckless. Either way, Dean remembers the jar clutched in his hand and throws it at djinn.

He stops abruptly, hacking and spluttering as blood splashes over his face and Dean drops down to grab his knife again.

A hand closes around his leg so he kicks out, hitting something solid with satisfying force as his fingers wrap around the hilt. There’s suddenly a weight on him and he bites down on panic and stabs blindly over his shoulder. The blade catches, causing djinn to snarl and curse and allowing Dean to buck him off himself. He rams his elbow into the bastard's face, then turns over to push the blade into his chest.

His breathing is the only sound in the room, although he can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

Djinn is lying motionless on the floor, a puddle of blood spreading around him.

Dean grabs his knife, wipes it off on the djinn’s shirt and climbs to his feet. He crosses the room in a few strides, hands immediately searching for pulse beneath Diego’s jaw. He slumps with the feel of even, though weak pulsing against his fingertips. He starts cutting the ropes holding him up, then, as an afterthought, grabs the blood bag as well.

He lays Diego on the ground while checking the other two guys- alive, but barely- and then decides it’s time to get the fuck out of there because Diego needs a doctor.

He never seemed like a heavy guy, and Dean is thankful that he’s really not because carrying him out would be such a pain if Dean’s knees buckled under his weight. He drapes him over his shoulders, arms hooked around his knee and elbow and off they go.

The car is empty when they finally get there, and Dean curses, simultaneously folding Diego into the backseat and dialing the ambulance. He rattles off the address, floor, and the room number because those men need help too and then jumps behind the wheel.

There’s a sticky note stuck to the wheel, saying, “TAKE HIM TO MOM!” and underlined three times to signal the urgency of it.

Dean thinks, _fuck it, fine_ , and floors it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego is saved! Hurray! 
> 
> Or, um, is he???


	8. 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is a long one. Also, a wild Luther appears- joking, he's actually quite nice (pls ignore my bad sense of humor)
> 
> Enjoy! :)

He peels into the alley behind the mansion so fast his heart hurts when he steps on the brakes, but just has half a mind to turn off the engine before jumping out to carry Diego inside.

He meets Grace in the kitchen again and she doesn’t say anything except, “Follow me,” at the sight of them. She leads them to an infirmary- _who has an infirmary in their house?_ \- and instructs him to set Diego on a stretcher in the middle of the room.

She checks him over in quick succession, pulling out various IV lines that Dean didn’t want to mess with.

“There’s, ah, a bag of his blood in the car,” he says partially to fill the silence and partially because he’s sure Diego needs a blood transfusion.

“How long has it been standing?” Grace asks him.

“I’m not sure,” he says honestly.

By the way her face scrunches up just so into a tiny frown, Dean assumes that it won’t do.

“We better not risk it,” she says, combing her fingers through Diego’s short hair gently.

“He did lose a lot of blood, though,” she says.“What blood type are you?”

“Uh, B-,” Dean responds.

“Diego is A+,” she says, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

She looks at him apologetically before saying, “Wait here,” and then leaves quickly.

Dean stays still, taking an opportunity to take a better look at Diego. Aside from the general, ‘almost dead’ appearance, he hasn’t really changed too much. His face seems a bit sharper, older, and he’s filled out that lanky teenager frame, but he’s also taller so it doesn’t show as much as he’d probably like. The light makes his eyelashes send dark shadows over his cheeks and Dean’s eyes follow the scar from his cheekbone to above his ear. (And for the first time notice the tiny, almost invisible one on the tip of his ear, just a nick.)

He wants to trace it with his fingers like Diego does so often without even noticing it.

He jerks out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps quickly approaching and comes face to face with Luther.

Grace breezes past him with a look of determination when he stops at the doorway to stare at Dean in surprise and confusion, a tub of ice cream in his hands.

“Uh.”

“Luther, dear, come sit here,” Grace tells him.

Luther walks over to a chair she pulled up next to the stretcher and sits, his eyes on Dean the whole time. They flicker to Diego every once in a while, sticking to him only once Dean backs off to pull up a chair for himself.

When he realizes that Grace is not paying Dean any attention, he relaxes- and starts eating his ice cream.

“You’re awfully calm for someone whose brother is on death’s doorstep,” Dean comments because he can’t contain himself. Diego never explicitly said so or even implied, but by the bruises he was sporting from time to time, it was evident there was abuse happening in this house. What else and who could it be?

Luther freezes with a spoon in his mouth, swallows, and says, “Mom knows what she’s doing.”

He outstretches his arm, the tub held between his knees now, and watches as Grace ties a rubber binder around his biceps, then feels around for a vein and unties the binder again. She then turns to the desk thingy she wheeled in next to the stretcher and starts…well, doing something. Dean doesn’t know much about this stuff past basic first aid. He only knows that at one point there will be needles and tubes and then blood will go from Luther to Diego. That’s what’s important.

“Alright,” Grace says suddenly and ties the rubber binder around Luther’s arm again and prods some more. Dean watches as she grabs a cotton wool ball with a gloved hand, pours a bit of alcohol on it, rubs it over Luther’s skin in a circular motion, then throws it. New cotton ball, alcohol, circular motion, trash can. Once more. Then she takes a hold of a long needle that has a vaguely familiar attachment part. She leads it carefully into Luther’s arm, pushing a part in, pulling a part out until all that’s left in her hand is the needle. She throws the needle into a small, yellow can on her desk thingy.

After that, she tapes a see-through foil over the entrance spot. Luther calmly eats his ice cream through all of that. Dean notices the same tattoo of an umbrella on the inside of his wrist that Diego has.

Grace repeats the same process with Diego and lowers his stretcher. Then, finally, she hooks them up with a thin, plastic tube.

Dean watches the blood running through it, feeling the tension he wasn’t even aware of leaving his body. He feels a hundred pounds lighter.

Grace inspects her work for a moment, then tells them, “I don’t doubt this was stressful for everyone, so I believe it’s time to rest, yes? Do you want me to wheel over a bed for you?” she asks Luther.

He shakes his head, “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

She gives them a reassuring smile and leaves, smoothing a hand over Luther’s shortly cropped hair on her way out.

An awkward silence falls over them.

“So,” Luther starts, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his mouth, “how do you know Diego?”

“It’s a long story.”

Luther frowns and then asks, “how did this happen?”

Dean sighs, “Also a long story.”

“Longer than the first one?”

The guy is stubborn, Dean will give him that.

“He was working on a case, it turned pear-shaped,” he responds.

His thoughts go back to Klaus, wondering if the guy went to take a piss in the worst moment possible and Dean left him there or if he left on his own.

“Can I trust you to keep him alive until I get back?” He asks, bringing a decision on a whim.

Luther’s eyebrows jump up like it’s a ridiculous question to ask.

“I’m his brother,” he says.

“Mhm,” Dean hums glumly.

Luther frowns again, but nods, “Yeah, sure. Why?”

“I gotta go back for Klaus.”

“Klaus was with you?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t in the car when I got Diego,” Dean tells him.

Luther swallows down another mouthful before asking, “Were there any dead people?”

“Yeah…” Dean nods, not entirely sure where this topic switch came from.

Luther shakes his head and says, “Then he’s not there.”

“What?”

“Klaus. If there were dead people, he left as soon as he could.”

“He didn’t know there were dead people,” Dean reasons. There’s no way Klaus could know if he didn’t want to even get out of the car.

Something flickers over Luther’s face, and he says, “Oh,” like he just figured something out, but he doesn’t share it with Dean.

“He’s not there, trust me,” he says again.

“Right,” Dean responds doubtfully.

Luther sighs, “Or ask Mom if you want, she’d tell you the same.”

Dean’s eyes stray to Diego, pale and unconscious, the sight making his chest twist painfully.

In the end, he stays.

  * ●●●●



“You won’t get out of here.”

The voice is familiar, but he can’t pinpoint it. Cold and indifferent, hollow like a black hole swallowing down a cluster of stars. There’s a face, young and innocent, unassuming, but the voice doesn’t belong to it.

Diego flinches but he can’t move, wrists tied and needles sticking into his arms, cutting, intruding, invading, shifting beneath his skin-

“No. No, no, shit-“

He lurches out of his bed with a start, panic rising up his throat and reaches to grab his forearms. No needles.

“Diego, what’s wrong?”

Dean peers up at him from the dark, hands coming up to hold him, comfort him.

“Something’s not right,” Diego says, “something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?”

He crawls out of the bed, eyes running over everything that’s familiar, but not his. He knows this room, he knows this house and every single shadow in it, but it’s not his. None of this is.

He stuck around here for too long.

“I have to go,” he says, more to himself than anything but Dean still hears it.

He follows after Diego.

“Go? Where? It’s the middle of the night,” he tries to reason with him, following him downstairs.

“ _Diego._ ”

It’s a dream. He just has to wake up, right? It’s simple.

He pinches himself, but it doesn’t work.

Okay, it’s not- fuck, how does he wake up?

“This is all a dream, it’s not real,” he tells himself, hoping that saying it out loud will change something. It doesn’t.

“So what?”

He turns to face Dean.

“What?”

Dean shrugs, “So what if it’s not real? _It’s what you want._ ”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want this.”

His eyes fall to another photo on the wall. He thinks about Ben, he thinks- he thinks he has an idea.

He runs to the kitchen, heart in his throat, and starts rummaging around.

If it’s just a dream, then what does it matter? He remembers the dreams he had as a kid, underwater, alone and cold, and forever there. He remembers everything turning black, feeling his fingers going numb. He remembers waking up, alive and warm in his bed.

This is all in his head.

“What are you do- help! I need help here!” Dean screams over the sound of rattling drawers and cupboards.

Diego screams in frustration because _where are all the fucking knives?_

“What’s happening?” Vanya asks, the rest of his siblings suddenly there.

“Diego? What are you doing?” Ben- not real, not real- asks as Klaus sing-songs, “Oh, Diego lost his marbles.”

Considering what he’s trying to do, that’s sound pretty accurate.

He holds up a butter knife, _a goddamn mockery_ , and tosses it into the sink. He’s trying to kill himself here, not make a snack, _for fuck’s sake_.

He tries to push past them but they won’t let him, forming a barricade in front of the entrance.

Allison is frowning.

“Why are you doing this? You were happy.”

“It’s not real.”

“But it’s what you want, isn’t it?” Five prompts.

Diego can’t look at Ben.

“It’s not. I’m sorry, but it’s wrong,” he tells them sadly.

“I thought you wanted to be free from Dad,” Ben says and- and.

Dad.

He can finally connect that voice to a person and it makes something ugly twist inside him. It’s like a sucker punch to the gut and it fills him with pure hate.

Dad. The bastard.

“Not like this,” he says because he’ll be damned if he lets that man run him into a grave too.

He shoves past them forcefully, ripping his arm from Luther’s grip, and locks himself in the infirmary.

If his own head can’t give him a knife, he’ll have to improvise.

He finds an injection of Heparin in the fridge and snatches it with shaky fingers, stomach turning unpleasantly at the sight of the needle.

Okay, he thinks, this is going to suck.

He hears banging on the door and slides down to sit on the floor, his feet giving up. He uncaps the needle, feels cold sweat washing over him. He tries not to look at it as much as it’s possible when he has to jab it in his arm.

He lets out a long breath and sandwiches his upper arm between his knees to make a skin fold.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” he curses and smacks his elbow into the wall before plunging the needle in.

(He thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind while trying to distract himself from the needle in his arm, how ironic it is that he was taught about all this medical shit with the purpose of being able to help himself, only to use that knowledge now to kill himself. He thinks about Mom and decides to never _ever_ let her know about this.)

He empties the syringe and pulls it out again, slumping against the wall and closing his eyes for a moment that he thinks he’ll throw up.

He doesn’t, but he’s also not done yet.

He groans, sobbing out, “Fuck,” and readying himself for the grand finale. He’d kill for a knife right now. A _tanto_ or _kaiken_. Or, fuck it, a pocket knife would do.

“Alright, Two, quit pussyfooting around,” he mutters, flexing his hand a couple of times to make his brachial artery bulge out.

“Diego! Let us in!”

_He can’t._

He presses the needle against the skin in the crook of his elbow (it’s horrifyingly unhygienic, but he’s about to die so what the fuck). He thinks about Dean, out on the road, and Allison living out her dream in L.A., and Luther stuck in that fucking house, how Klaus is who knows where, out of his mind, and Vanya who was always a shadow of them all. He thinks about Five lost in time and space, and Ben, when they were kids and everyone could hear him screaming from the nightmares. He thinks about Dad, feels spite bubbling, shimmering white hot and scorching in his chest and rips the needle into his skin.

  * ●●●●



Dean doesn’t leave, but he can’t stay confined to that chair either. He paces around the bed they transferred Diego to, walking left-right, right-left and feeling Luther’s eyes on him.

He’s still hooked to Diego with that tube, but he’s not showing any signs of blood loss, despite having given enough that the color has returned to Diego’s face. He’s still picking at his ice cream.

Dean sighs, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Luther nods, “Up the stairs-“

“Yeah, I know where it is.”

Luther gives him another puzzled expression, but Dean doesn’t wait for any other response he might have.

He gets done with his business and returns downstairs, backpedaling at the doorway because Luther has shifted closer to the bed and he didn’t exactly get a good look, but if Diego is awake-

He’s just not ready to face him yet. He doesn’t know what to say, except repeat that he’s sorry about a thousand times.

He peers around the corner to survey the situation. Luther abandoned his ice cream on the table next to the bed and is staring intently at Diego’s chest, poised as if he’s ready to jump to his feet at any moment.

Diego is not breathing.

Dean turns to run to find Grace, opens his mouth to yell when there’s a noise, scuffle, and Luther’s, “No, no, no, Diego, stop! It’s okay!” over a familiar voice repeating, “Get it out, get it out!”

He looks back; Diego is fighting against the grip Luther has on his forearms, though Luther doesn’t budge an inch.

He shifts his hold on Diego in one hand, the other fumbling for something on the table.

“It’s not a needle, remember? Look!” He says, bringing that same thin tube and the needle thing Grace attached to them to his mouth. He pulls out the needle with his teeth and spits it out (that can’t be safe) before shoving the plastic part in Diego’s hand.

“It’s just plastic, okay?” He asks quietly, hand closing around Diego’s and the other letting go of him once he stops trashing. Dean watches as he flexes his fingers against the sheets a few times, swallowing thickly.

It’s so quiet he can hear him sigh after a moment.

“What the fuck?” Is the first thing out of Diego’s mouth.

It’s enough to make Dean feel relieved and smile to himself.

Luther plops back down into his chair, snorts, “You tell me.” He resumes eating his ice cream.

“What am I doing here?”

“Your friend brought you in,” Luther responds with a shrug.

Diego blinks, “A friend?”

Luther nods, a thoughtful expression on his face, “He looks like a live sized Ken doll.”

_Oh, look who’s talking_ -

Diego snorts, “That’s- Dean?”

“He didn’t say. I don’t think he likes me very much,” Luther tells him with a frown and scoops some ice cream on his spoon. He’s been eating that ice cream for a long time now. Dean’s impressed it hasn’t melted yet.

Diego deflates for  a moment, then nods at the tub and asks, “What flavor’s that?”

“Vanilla-bourbon. Want some?”

“…Yeah. Give it here.”

Luther shoves that last spoonful in his mouth before sticking the spoon into the tub and passing it over to Diego.

Dean is…confused. This is really not what he thought their interactions look like.

He clears his throat and enters the room, making his presence known.

The brothers’ eyes land on him immediately, and Diego looks like he’s swallowed his tongue, eyes going wide.

“Dean? You’re- you’re here?”

Fuck, he is pissed. He was probably hoping he had left.

“I- yeah. Where else would I go?”

_I’ll apologize properly, but now I just want you to know that I’m glad you’re alright._

Diego doesn’t respond.

Luther stands up. “I think we can get those out now,” he says, slowly reaching for Diego’s arm.

Diego looks like he ate something sour through the whole process, and sinks into the mattress as soon as Luther throws everything into the trash. He looks between the two of them.

“I’ll, uh, go tell Mom you’re awake,” he says and flees.

As soon as they’re alone, Diego says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. For what I said,” Diego explains, head bowed.

“Why the hell are you apologizing? I’m sorry,” Dean tells him, collapsing into Luther’s chair.

Diego frowns, “What?”

“That was a douchebag move. I was pissed because of Sam, but- yeah, I’m sorry,” he says and he doesn’t know where to look, what to do with his hands, so he takes a hold of Diego’s wrist, hoping it conveys that he really is sorry.

Diego is quiet for a moment, his fingers twitching against the sheets.

“So, what’s going on here,” he starts, “is that we’re both sorry for what we said?”

Dean nods awkwardly, “Yeah, I guess.”

“And, uh, w-we can’t promise anything…but we’ll try not to be assholes in future?”

Dean grins, “Sounds good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

  * ●●●●



Diego scrolls through his voicemails as soon as he has his phone back. There’s an impressive number of ones from Sam and only two from Dean, but well, no less touching than a dozen of Sam’s.

He presses the phone to his ear and listens as it rings, an arm resting over his stomach and a blade between his fingers. Dean’s rummaging through his fridge, giving him a sense of privacy even though the boiler room doesn’t have walls separating the kitchen from the bedroom.

“Hello? Diego? Are you okay?”

“Yep. All good,” he says over Sam’s excited rambling.

“So Dean found you? Is he okay? Are you two…?”

Diego smiles, “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I, ah, hear you went off to college.”

Sam sighs, “Is Dean really mad about that?”

Diego sneaks a glance at him; he’s playing with one of Diego’s knives- _the idiot’s gonna cut himself_ \- on the couch.

“I don’t think so,” he responds, then quieter, “he’ll get over it, just give him some time.”

“I know,” he hears a bell in the distance, “I gotta go. But…can you keep an eye on him? Please?”

Diego misses his mom and his siblings- he barely made himself leave yesterday, although he tried not to show it- and it might be the dream still clinging to his subconsciousness, but he feels lonely. And by the sound and looks of it, Dean’s not much better off.

“Yeah, of course. Have fun.”

Sam chuckles, “You too.”

He tosses the phone on the bed next to him, drinks in the feeling of content washing over him. He feels like he had slept for a week straight, batteries charged to the max.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something. Uh, two somethings, actually,” Dean tells him from the couch.

“Oh?”

“How’d you wake up? I, ah, did some research, so I know the gist of it, but how’d you get to that?”

Diego debates telling him everything. Saying how he didn’t fit into the puzzle, all wrong shapes, and too sharp edges. How he’s too angry.

Instead, he says, “It was just a dream. I figured you die in a dream, you wake up.”

Dean nods, “Can’t argue with that logic.”

Diego hums in agreement, “What’s the other?”

“What?”

“What’s the other something?”

“Oh, um. Well, I was wondering if you’d want to come with me. Like, to go hunting. Outside of the city for a while, you know.”

Oh.

“And it’s cool if you don’t! I get it, your mom’s here and everything, so don’t sweat it-“

“Sounds like a plan.”

“-and- what?”

Diego grins, “I said it sounds like a plan. I’m in.”

Dean’s face shifts in surprise, “Really? Just like that?”

He nods, “Yeah. I could do with a bit of road-tripping.”

He thinks about hours upon hours of being confined in a car with Dean who listens to the same 5 albums on repeat and how it can only make his crush worse.

Dean grins back at him, eyes full of light. “Awesome,” he says.

And he thinks, _you idiot, you’re already too far gone anyway_.

  * ●●●●



_He comes to a taste of sourness in his mouth and the feeling of cotton stuffed in his throat and head, lights overhead pulsing in rhythm with the heartbeat in his temples. He recognizes the infirmary, white walls and the smell of antiseptic in the air._

_Klaus is lounging in a bed next to him, drawing smiley faces on the cast on his arm._

_Luther is sitting between the two of them, eating ice cream._

_“Ugh,” Diego starts, “really, you have to torture me like this? I’m injured.”_

_Luther stops to look at him, cheeks full like a chipmunk’s. He swallows and says, “I’m stress eating.”_

_“It’s his third tub,” Klaus informs him and smacks Luther’s thigh. Luther spoon-feeds him a scoop._

_Diego blinks, “You’re gonna be sick.”_

_Luther makes an affirmative noise and scoops up another mouthful for himself nonetheless. He curls up on the chair, a feat that’s barely possible since he hit his growth spurt._

_“It’s strawberry. Want some?”_

_“…Yeah. Gimme.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aannnndd yeah, that would be it from this installment (next one should be started soon :D). Um, come yell at me in the comments and let me know what you think? :D
> 
> Also, I keep wanting to say this, but I keep forgetting to actually do so :/ BUT ANYWAY, thank you guys SO MUCH for reading and I am unbelievably glad you're enjoying this series so much!!! Lots of love, you're all awesome xx <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> A cliffhanger, I know. Shame on me.
> 
> This fic will have more Dean POV to make up for it, tho XD
> 
> Let me know what you think! ;D


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